


Black and Gold

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bunniverse, Coma, Cooking, Drug Use, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multi, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: When Glorfindel uncovers a secret that Erestor has been keeping, it is enough to tear them apart.  Glorfindel chooses his young lover, a performer and healer named Faelion with whom he had a passionate relationship in Gondolin, over Erestor, leaving Fingon to attempt to pick up the pieces.





	1. DOUBTS

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to AnnEllspethRaven for Beta Reading this monster!
> 
> Half of this story was written in 2014, and the other half in 2017, and now I'm finally getting it all put together. It would have been two stories, but I realized it actually makes sense to merge it. The first chapter belongs to both; the others are noted as to which of the two stories they came from. Enjoy, dear readers!
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> 'Cause if you're not really here  
>  Then the stars don't even matter  
> Now I'm filled to the top with fear  
> That it's all just a bunch of matter
> 
>  
> 
> _'Cause if you're not really here_  
>  I don't want to be either  
> I wanna be next to you  
> Black and gold, black and gold, black and gold
> 
>  
> 
> _Lyrics from 'Black and Gold' by Sam Sparro_  
> 

Many times in my life I watched animals hide things in the strangest of places. The most memorable of these was a black squirrel in Mirkwood. She was bold enough to come in through the windows and hide things in the caves before scurrying out again. It must be where I picked it up; it was in Mirkwood that I became even more secretive than I had been in Gondolin. 

I deceived myself into thinking I was more open, but in reality, most of my life is hidden. Some of it is in boxes, some of it in dark passageways where no one will look. Some of it is locked away in my mind, and then there are the things I hide in plain sight. I think I have hidden them. 

Sometimes, like those squirrels, I forget where I have hidden things.

Sometimes, other people find my secrets.

Sometimes, I have to explain.

Sometimes, I have no words.

It was right after lunch. Glorfindel, Faelion, and I were enjoying an afternoon free, just the three of us. Fingon left very early in the morning -- so early that I was the only other person in the household who was up at the time. We had tea outside and watched the sun rise and cause the stars to fade away, and then he lingered in the kitchen as I took the dishes back inside. We embraced at the door, and whether perceived or real, it seemed more than a friendly farewell. We kissed, once to each cheek, as was customary for him, and then he hugged me again, but his arms felt tighter. He rested his chin on my shoulder and held me, and my hands found his back and wandered in small circles until finally we must have realized more than a moment had passed and we slowly stepped back.

Every few years, he would take a holiday for a few weeks and visit his numerous relations in Tirion and Alqualondë and wherever else they had migrated to since the last time. After the first time, he always asked if I wished to join him, and always I refused, for the fear that I would lose my place here and be too obvious when alone with him. I think, had I left with him, I would not have returned, and that scared me for some unfathomable reason. The partings always made me melancholy, despite knowing that he would return. Always I worried he might find more things to do and delay his journey back, but most of all I worried he might meet someone. It was selfish, yes, but at that time I did not quite have the word for it as I do now. I have often been a coward when it comes to love.

Whenever Fingon was gone, it was as if it granted permission to Glorfindel, and especially Faelion, to spend both day and night seeking pleasure, over and over, and everywhere. Most of the time, I go along with whatever they wish. I let them use my body when they desire to do so, for my dismissal of their requests only leads to lonely nights spent on the couch. 

Most of the time.

This time, as Faelion followed me into the sitting room, I picked up a book I had been reading and sat on the couch. I gave a yawn, and Faelion made a suggestion of what he could do with my mouth. I ignored it. Faelion came over and took the book from me with one hand as he worked to unfasten his belt with the other. 

“No,” I said softly as I took the book from him. “Not right now.”

“Come on,” he prodded. “We can get Glorfindel to suck you off, too.”

“No, thank you.” I returned to my book. 

“Fine. Be that way.” Faelion threw himself into one of the chairs and drummed his fingers along the arm until Glorfindel arrived. When Glorfindel did, Faelion caught him by the waist and pulled him down into his lap. I lifted the book up to block my view and attempted to ignore them. 

I lost myself in my reading until their gasps and groans made it impossible to forget they were there. With the book still held up, I relocated to the kitchen until there came a few loud cries and then silence. I returned, now with a clean cloth which I handed to Faelion without making eye-contact with either of them.

“Thanks, poppet.” Faelion reached out and slapped me hard on the ass and began to clean up what Glorfindel failed to lick off of him.

I felt I should say something, but there was a call for music. I offered to play to remove myself from being an object of desire for Faelion; Glorfindel offered to retrieve my fiddle. It was in the library. It should have taken but a few minutes. Faelion and I sat and spoke far longer than I expected until I realized Faelion was no longer paying attention to the conversation. He was looking at me-- no, through me. He was… surprised, but not displeased. The expression was odd and unnerving, and I stood and excused myself, and received no protest.

As I went to the stairs to call for Glorfindel, that was when I noticed he had blocked his mind from me. For a moment, I thought nothing of it. Slowly, doubts creeped into my mind, coupled with the strange way Faelion regarded me. The stairway was dark as I ascended, and grasping the railing as I went a shiver alerted me to additional reservations. The library is not so far away, but it seemed miles before I reached it.

The door was open; the candles within were lit. I peeked in and saw Glorfindel, leaned over the desk by the window. My fiddle was still resting in a case in another corner, and I almost made a jest and went to get it, but something was wrong. The way he stood; the way he was breathing. Stiff and shallow, and…

And I caught a glimpse of the sheet in his hand. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, and felt the shame in my cheeks. I entered so silently, and his back was to me. I considered leaving. 

Only then did I realize how unguarded my own mind was.

“How long?”

His words were like a knife, and I swallowed hard and looked up. His eyes were upon me now, hurt and accusing. I could only shake my head at him.

“These go back years, Erestor. Years!” 

I stumbled a step back. My mouth opened but apologies seemed pointless. Where had those letters been, anyhow? Surely not on the desk -- I was smarter than that! No, I would not leave something so private and precious in such an obvious place. They were tucked away in a drawer, the third one down, and so that suddenly brought a question to my mind. “You were spying on me.”

“Damn right!” Glorfindel threw the letter in his hand down onto the desk and I cringed at the lack of care. “Here I thought you were being distant because you were using that fucking shit you shove up your nose again, and I find it worse than that! How long, Erestor?” he growled at me.

“How long have you been snooping around?” I suddenly demanded. “Have you been through all of my things? Everywhere I go? Is nothing private?”

“How many more did you send him?” Glorfindel further pressed. “How many nights have you spent beneath him, in this house, right under my nose?”

“I never sent any of them,” I shouted back. My mind began to wander back to a night, a night free of consequences and guilt, or so I thought. And yet, it was mostly harmless, a need for intimacy without intercourse, and I had no regrets. Even so, I blocked my thoughts, but I knew from Glorfindel’s expression that something slipped, some sliver of a memory made it out, and anger flashed in his eyes.

“Fuck, Erestor, this is…” Glorfindel clenched his fists. “...this is… fucking adultery!”

“Writing letters?” I blurted out. “If this is adultery, then just what the fuck have you been doing with Faelion all these years?”

“That is different and you damned well know it,” hissed Glorfindel. “We have an agreement. I have been forthcoming about everything going on with Faelion.”

“Everything that happens right up until the two of you go into the bedroom and lock me on the other side!”

Glorfindel snorted. “You and I had a long time to go into locked rooms together. Faelion and I are just making up for lost time.”

“Then stop shaming me, and fucking go marry him instead,” I spat out.

Glorfindel held up his hand, gold gleaming upon it. “If only I could, but as you can see, I am stuck with you at the moment.”

I have never felt colder in my life than I did when he spoke those words, despite it being my suggestion first. Throat dry and mind racing, I slid down to the floor. There I sat, dumbfounded, after he left the room, after all light left the sky, even after I heard Fingon arrive home, and greetings between them. 

Fingon. How I wished then that I had taken up his offer that morning! How I wished I had not pretended that all the time he and I spent alone together was only quiet companionship. How I wished I could possess just a hint of his bravery in this moment. I could hear his voice - his laughter echoed up the stairway and I longed for it, like the way perfume of a would-be lover might cause a flutter in the heart of my younger self. Fingon is not supposed to be here, though I am glad for it. Yet I cannot make myself stand; I cowered down further. I know but a single look will give me away, to the detriment of a marriage already in tatters, and so I stayed there, on the floor, and strained to catch whatever crumbs of conversation I might be blessed to hear.

\---

“The next boat will leave in three days. That should give me ample time to actually finish all of the things I said I was going to finish before leaving on holiday.” Fingon set his packed bag near the door and continued on to the kitchen. “Please; continue with supper. I did not mean to cause a disturbance. I can find something for myself.”

“Oh, I know that,” said Faelion as he followed after Fingon. Awkwardly behind by several paces was Glorfindel, staying close enough to hear, far enough back not to be part of the conversation. “I was just ever so curious what caused you to stay.”

“It is not so much a cause to stay as it is an inability to leave.” Fingon pulled a pot from the cupboard and added some water before he put it on to heat. “I was there more than early enough, despite my fears I might be detained at the library longer than I wished. I had hours to shop at the market, in fact. I have souvenirs for both of my parents and my siblings and even something for Celegorm, and was about to ask about boarding early when I overheard a discussion between a couple. They believed they had purchased two tickets, when they had only procured one. They were trying to make a decision as to which would stay behind, and it was the fiftieth birthday of their one and only grandchild they were leaving to celebrate.”

“So you sold them your ticket?” guessed Faelion.

“I gave them my ticket,” corrected Fingon. “They offered to pay, but--”

“I know someone who makes their living reselling tickets by the shore,” interrupted Faelion as Fingon continued to gather ingredients for a small repast. “He buys pairs of them early based on patterns he sees, and sells them off again at the docks for a higher price. He used to be able to resell them back just before boarding if he could not get takers, but the captains caught on and refuse to let him now.”

“Cannot imagine why,” commented Fingon as he started to cut up some carrots. 

“Even with the few tickets he never sells, the rest more than make up for it.” Faelion stole a chunk of carrot from the cutting board and said, “You could have made a pretty penny on that ticket.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Fingon rolled his eyes, unseen to the others. “Where is Erestor this evening? Not still at work, I hope. I did not see him outside when I arrived.”

“He was in the upstairs library, last I heard.” Faelion chewed on the carrot. “He does not know that you are not on your way to the mainland. Perhaps he is writing another letter to you.”

“Another letter?” Fingon looked over his shoulder in confusion. “I would barely have been gone half a day had I boarded this morning. I was only going to be gone for two weeks; why would any of you be sending me letters? I doubt they would arrive until after I came back here.”

“You know Erestor and his letters,” responded Faelion with a smile.

Fingon frowned slightly and returned to his task while Glorfindel shot Faelion a warning look. “Someone should let him know I am home for now,” suggested Fingon.

“You two stay here,” offered Faelion, temporarily grasping Fingon’s shoulders with a friendly pat. “I can go and let him know.”

“Thank you,” said Fingon. As as afterthought, he called up, “Ask him if he wants anything to eat!”

\---

When I heard movement on the stairs, I crawled into the shadows and waited until all was quiet again.

“Are you still in here?”

It was Faelion. I thought not to answer, but that would have them looking for me, I thought. Slowly I stood, yet said nothing. 

“Glorfindel told me you have been busy up here.” Faelion stayed in the doorway. “Somewhere between the weeping and the wailing you caused him, he told me all about your indiscretions. Speaking of -- Fingon is here, though I think you know that. I suppose you could come down and join us -- if you want to cause your husband further duress and discomfort at seeing your blissful expressions directed toward another man.”

I run both hands through my hair. His voice is unbearable. “It is complicated, Faelion. I wrote things, yes, but I acted upon… that is, nothing I did was… unseemly.”

Faelion stared at me, and then, one brow haughtily rose. “Nothing?”

My mind raced as I once again put up barriers and attempted not to think of the sweet, delicate images that came back to me, hidden away for the moments in the night when I have felt so alone, and know he is so close by, and yet unattainable. My vows, my fear, and my pride have kept me from him, for the most part. And the rest…

The rest is a night in the hallway, drunken kisses and unexpected intimacies in the darkness. It is wanting more, needing more, and holding back, and crying into my pillow when everyone is asleep. It is finding all the ways to be close without being suspected by anyone. It is love, and it hurts because I have denied myself, thinking I must to ensure Glorfindel’s happiness by ignoring my own.

“So you have never had an impure thought about him?” Faelion’s voice brought me back to the moment I found myself in. “Never once have you thought to touch him as a lover? To kiss him with the fervor you once had for Glorfindel?” Faelion moved slowly into the room, toward me, as he spoke. “To offer him your body? To give yourself to him? To let him take you, and fuck you, over and over? Not a single thought of all that?”

Any answer will condemn me -- lies will always be lies, and the truth is no good, either. I remain silent and avoid his gaze.

“Not a single thought, I would wager, for the thoughts are many.” Faelion was close now, and with his hands on his hips, looked down at me. “Yet, there is more. Do not think I have been blind to it, Erestor. Glorfindel has not, either. Why do you think he came up here? When Fingon left early in the morning, your demeanor changed. It always does when he is away, and improves so well once he returns. At least Glorfindel has some answers now. Maybe if you offer him the whole truth, he might feel he can forgive you.”

The last person I want to confess to is Faelion, but I feel it will be unlikely that Glorfindel will speak to me so soon. It sounds too good to be true that this might solve the problem, and that should have been warning enough to me. I sink back down to the floor again, and my hand is drawn through my hair several times before I speak. “There was only one night, Faelion. It was all so brief -- Beleg was still here at the time. We were all drunk, and it was a night of no regrets--”

“The night all five of us were drinking and talking and you kept storming off?” 

I want to tell him how annoying his interruptions are, but instead I nod. “I never meant it to go as far as it did, and I stopped before it crossed the line of regret.” When Faelion only stares in return, I defend my actions. “The conversations we had were… unconventional. We were all saying and doing things that--”

“It was meant to be hypothetical, you whore.” 

My guard is down and my response is weak. I want to throttle him for his hurtful words; I want for him never to have been here, even if that had meant my death all those years ago when I embraced the drugs and thought they contained the answer to my pain. Muscles tense and breath coming in short bursts, I close my eyes. My mind races through responses. The only thing staying my hands and keeping me in check is the knowledge that Glorfindel loves this arrogant, insufferable creature. I rub my face as I realize those words may well be descriptors for me. 

It is obvious I have taken too long to reply when I hear Faelion speak again.

“When we allowed you to stay, it was with the understanding that you meant to change. It was with the belief that you would not continue to cause Glorfindel to suffer.” Faelion crossed his arms over his chest. “I would call this an utter failure. Tonight was the worst, Erestor. To see him this upset is not something I will tolerate.”

“Then leave.” The words come out before I can censor myself. He laughs and it sends a chill through me. “You expect me to leave.”

“What use have you here, Erestor? You have ideas that never come to fruition, and you have a pity position at the library because they feel bad for you, the one-time great councilor turned drug addict. Speaking of which…” 

Before I could stop him, Faelion was at one of the bookshelves. He pulled down a dozen volumes, leaving them to heap on the floor in a pile, and pulled from behind them a box familiar to me. “Care to explain?” he asked as he held it out.

“I put it there so I would not use it,” I muttered, already defeated and planning my eventual retreat.

Faelion dropped it onto the desk with a thud. “Why is it here at all?”

“Just leave me alone.” I bowed my head and cover my ears, unwilling to hear his continued torment.

His voice is muffled, but he came close and leaned in, and so I heard his parting words anyhow. “You already know that you contribute nothing here. Everyone supports you and your shattered dreams. No one here will trust you with their children -- this school idea of yours is a joke! Your abuse of Glorfindel is nearly legendary now. And Fingon… how can you even think someone so noble as he would have any interest in you? He was drunk that night -- all of us were. These letters are juvenile and your actions are the same. My uncles are right about you -- you are a fraud. You are neither a scholar nor a gentleman; you hid behind the faith in an attempt to elevate yourself, but you are less than common. Even they could not stand you, could they? You have so little respect for yourself that you have lain with more people than you can remember, and so, how can you have respect for anyone else?”

I wanted to dispute everything he said, but he was not the first to say these things. Perhaps they are true. I lowered my hands and stared at the floor.

“We should never have stopped you, Erestor, when you tried to leave. It would be for the best now. Go back. Back to the mainland to play in the mud like the pig you are.” Faelion stood up after the last jab at my occupational choice, and walked calmly away from me and out of the room.

I shook, both in rage and fear. I looked around the room - the box, the letters, all in plain view, accusing me. In vain, I attempted to remove the marriage band from my finger, but my pulse was racing and it was stuck despite my best efforts. I had no intention of wasting more time; if they wanted me gone, I would be gone. I would not start a scene in the house. I would not give them any more to work with. I could contact Fingon the next day at work and go from there. 

And yet… part of me thought I might be overreacting. That I needed to beg my way back, and swear it was only words, and have Fingon give a statement to them that he was unaware of all that was transpiring in my head. 

\---

“He said he wanted to be left alone,” were the words Faelion delivered when he joined Fingon and Glorfindel in the sitting room.

“Oh. Did he give reason why?” asked Fingon, who was eating his meal from a bowl while Glorfindel drank from a large goblet of wine.

Faelion shook his head. “He is in the library. I would suggest you ask him yourself, but he is in one of his moods. Probably best to leave him be.”

Fingon frowned. “Did something happen at work?”

“Not a clue,” answered Faelion.

“He said nothing?”

“Only that he wished to be alone. He was adamant about that,” Faelion said. “I did let him know you were here, though.”

“Oh.” Fingon returned to his meal. “I suppose I can ask him in the morning.”

Faelion gave Glorfindel a look that emphasized they would speak later, and Glorfindel replied with a silent nod, unseen by Fingon.

After eating, Fingon retired to his room, and in short order, Glorfindel and Faelion to the one they shared with Erestor. The door was closed behind them, without any attempt to retrieve Erestor from the library.

\---

I went to the door of the bedroom and touched the knob. For several minutes, I worked on my speech. I thought of other transgressions and promises I could make to them. I trembled as I took a firm hold of the knob and turned it.

It was stuck.

No, not stuck. It was locked. Tears stung my eyes. Just like so many nights, it was locked. It seemed it was always locked now. I was the outsider now -- no, I had been the outsider for a while. My hand dropped to my side. 

I looked across the hall to another closed door. In my mind, I went to that door. I knocked on it. He came to the door, came to me, and all of my secrets tumbled forth. I told him everything, all of it, and he comforted me, and took me into his room and into his arms, and into his bed, and made love to me in the way I had so longed for as we locked everyone else out. 

Doubt is one of my greatest enemies. Doubt kept my feet in place, and turned them away, and hastened my retreat from the house and to the stable, down the road and away. 

I doubt I will return to that place again.


	2. Most of My Life Is Not Real: DREAMS

"Here." Fingon sets the bottle of liquor in front of me. "Come on. Are you going to make me drink alone?"

I turn my head to look at the bottle. "If I start-"

"Just drink it. If you have one now, you are less likely to drink your way through a magnum later." He pushes the bottle closer. "Just enough to let you sleep."

"I would prefer not to sleep." I reach for the bottle anyhow. "This is going to be hell on my stomach." The cork is loose, and I pull it out easily. I take a swig and find it weak, so I take another. "When are they coming back?" I dare to ask before I tilt the bottle back again.

"I told them both to fuck off."

I stare at Fingon for a while. He simply drinks from his own bottle and studies the nails on his left hand where some of the polish has chipped away, his thick, dark lashes obscuring his eyes and whatever emotion is hidden in them. "Thank you," I finally answer.

"Sure." Fingon licks his lips, pink tongue contrasting the darker hue he painted his mouth with earlier in the day. "I locked the doors so that they cannot get back in, even with the keys. I almost unlocked them again, but they can get to Salgant and Duilin tonight on foot."

I feel tears sting my eyes. "I have no intention of staying here."

"I suspected as much." Fingon looks around. "I suppose it is far enough along that someone else might come here and take over the project. I do not know if I want to continue it either. We have far too many memories here."

Instead of answering, I wipe my eyes before I grasp the bottle again.

Those hazel eyes finally settle on me, appearing so much more alive with color from the dark cosmetics he wears around them. "Where are we going to go?"

My lips hover over the bottle. We used to mean something else for me. It used to make me feel connected to someone. It was comfort and home and understanding and love. Now I am uncertain if I want to be a part of we again. 

"We could go to Tirion," Fingon answers himself. "My parents have a standing invitation for me to come to their house, and I know that they would extend that invitation to you. My father always thought you were an exemplary elf."

I try to answer with words, but nothing feels real. In my haze, I recall a night of ridiculous questions and unexpected desires. I remember Fingon’s invitation to join him outside, in cool water that could not have sated our lust for each other that evening. He has been waiting for this. Maybe I have been trying to ignore the inevitable. Maybe I wanted it all this time, too, but a promise and a band of gold kept me in check. I lift the bottle and drink until I squeeze my eyes shut from the pain of not breathing, and then I wait just a few seconds more before I gasp for air. Despite draining a considerable amount, the bottle feels heavy in my hands. I know for certain I do not wish to remain, and so I nod my head before I drink again. 

“I will pack. Ready anything you need. We leave in an hour,” he declares as he stands up. 

I nod again, and lift the bottle. The liquid chokes me, but still I drink and drink, until my head is light and the lack of air crushes my lungs, and that was the last I could recall for some time.


	3. And the Stars Fell Out of the Sky: DEAD

“Are we sure he was not out in the woods?” called out Faelion. He and Glorfindel hurried to keep pace with Fingon, who jogged with the dog on a leash. The canine, who had taken a liking to Erestor, usually woke him up when he wanted to go out into the yard. Because of the dog’s size and want to roam, none of them trusted him off his leash. He had been rather agitated when he finally came to get Fingon, his true master, and after relieving himself, felt the need to drag Fingon back to the stable. One of the horses was missing, and inside the house, Erestor was not to be found. “Maybe he just went for a ride. You know how he gets sometimes.”

“I will always trust an animal’s instincts over my own,” said Fingon as he continued to allow the dog to lead him down the streets into an area of Tol Eressëa where pubs stayed open until daylight broke and evening events were not uncommon. They passed by an outdoor stage where firebreathers and snake charmers practiced their crafts and a flamboyantly dressed youth beckoned onlookers to enter an ornate tent for a small fee. A painting on the side of a building invited them to a boxing match of ten rounds just a few minutes walk south. They turned east, and the dog quickened his pace.

Near the end of an alleyway, there was a commotion, and the dog stopped, one paw in the air. He looked up at Fingon, panting with his eyes bugged out slightly, and then gave a yank as he was off again, and Fingon behind, running now to keep up. Glorfindel and Faelion exchanged uncertain looks before they, too, followed. “If it happened again…” was all Faelion warned.

Fingon reached the small crowd first, and there found that two people were bent over the form of another person. “Shit.” He fumbled to loop the end of the leash through his belt as the dog charged forward and licked at the face of the person on the ground. Fingon looked over his shoulder and shouted out to Glorfindel and Faelion, but his words were lost in the din around him. Two things were creating confusion - the man lying on the ground, unconscious, and the fact that a noble, once a High King, stood amid entertainers, visitors, and drunks who had come out to see just what had transpired in the alleyway. Fingon shoved his way beside the pale form, and confirmed at once that it was Erestor on the ground. 

Faelion joined him a moment later, and lifted a handkerchief up to his nose to cover the stench from the garbage bin near them. He leaned down and tried to listen. Fingon stood and demanded space. As the crowd moved back, Faelion once again made an attempt to listen. Dried blood was caked on Erestor’s face above his lip, and some that was still tacky clung within his nostril. There was white powder over his upper lip, and already some onlookers murmured about what that meant.

“I think he… Fingon… I think…” Faelion furrowed his brow and leaned in closer. “I think he has passed on.”

Fingon turned to look down at Erestor’s form. Beside him, Glorfindel did not move. “Can you not try to revive him?” asked Fingon.

“With what?” Faelion asked. “I have no supplies with me. I am not equipped to deal with this matter.”

“You could at least try!”

“What do you want me to try? He is already dead!”

This silenced the crowd, and Fingon pushed a man who had stepped between him and Erestor out of the way as he dropped back to the ground. “Come on, Faelion! You must know something you can try!” Fingon looked around on the ground. “Does anyone see any rocks?” he called out, and this set the witnesses to looking for the requested item.

“I would try to breathe life back into him, but he lacks a heartbeat.”

“How do you know? You never checked,” accused Fingon.

“I listened for it,” countered Faelion angrily.

Fingon lowered himself further and pressed his ear to Erestor’s chest. The cloth and the noise around him muffled any chance to hear it, so he tore at the material until he was able to press his ear against the warm skin, and immediately he had hope. “His heart is barely beating and damned irregular, but something is still going on in there.” Fingon sat up and bellowed to those around, “Move back!” before he lifted an arm, hand fisted, and slammed it down upon Erestor’s chest. Faelion stepped back and almost stumbled onto his rear, but managed to gain his footing again as Fingon thumped Erestor’s chest again and again.

“You could break his sternum and puncture an organ,” warned Faelion.

Fingon looked up in accusation. “And you thought he was already dead.” Fingon hunched over, pinched Erestor’s nose, and tilted his head back. He took a deep breath, sealed his mouth over Erestor’s, and forced the air into Erestor’s lungs. Erestor’s chest puffed up, and Fingon turned his head to listen. He sent another breath into Erestors’ body, and then sat up on his haunches and began to press repeatedly against Erestor’s chest. “Come. On. Damn. You.” Fingon continued the compressions for a full minute, and all the while the little dog danced around and yipped. Fingon listened again, and once more he tried to breathe life fully into Erestor as a new person joined them.

“Alright. Clear out here. We need room to work.” The voice was calm yet commanding, and within a few moments the alleyway was clearing out. Fingon paused to see Círdan now standing beside Faelion. “What happened?”

“No idea,” gasped Fingon as he started compressions again. At the same time, Faelion said, “He clearly overdosed on those damned drugs he is always sticking up his nose.”

Círdan frowned and looked down. Though the light was poor, he could still see relatively well what was before him. “If it was due to drugs, they should be under the blood, not over it.” Now a watchman made haste to where they were and called out to them, and it was Círdan who took charge of everything else happening around them while Fingon desperately went through the motions over and over. Círdan spoke quickly to the watchman, and both of them left the scene for a few minutes. Fingon continued his attempt to resuscitate Erestor, and the other two simply looked on.

During his fifth rotation of pressing down on Erestor’s chest, Faelion came a little closer. “You are exhausting yourself. He is gone,” he said with certainty. He placed his hand upon Fingon’s shoulder, and it was slapped away.

“Stay out of my way,” growled Fingon.

“Glorfindel, Erestor is… was your husband,” corrected Faelion. “Tell Fingon to leave him be and to respect the dead.”

“You should listen to him, Fingon,” advised Glorfindel. “If he says that--”

“Fuck off. Both of you!” Fingon drew in a large breath, and now instead of slowly releasing it, exhaled quickly, and then again, and a third time before he listened.

“Fingon, you have until the count of five before I remove you from there myself,” warned Faelion.

“I would love to see you try,” Fingon challenged.

Now Glorfindel stepped forward. “Stop, Fingon. You are making everything worse right now.”

Fingon thrust and accusational finger at Faelion. “And he is somehow making it better?”

“Alright, enough!” Faelion made to grab Fingon’s arm, but he pulled it away. 

In a last attempt to revive Erestor, Fingon raised his arm again and thumped Erestor’s chest even harder than before. It was the third try, the one just as Faelion managed to wrestle him away, that something miraculous happened.

Erestor gasped, groaned, and started to throw up.

“No! Stop! Let me-- damn you!” Fingon jerked his knee into Faelion’s jaw. This caused Faelion to let go, and allowed Fingon to rush back to where he was. He rolled Erestor onto his side and swiped two fingers into his mouth to clear the vomit. Once again he listened and shook his head. “Do not dare give up now,” he warned. “Listen to me, Erestor! You get your ass back here now!” Fingon wiped what he could from Erestor’s face and then, with his eyes closed, he leaned down.

“No, no!” came Círdan’s voice. He was running down to join them again, his beard a wisp of white waving over his shoulder. “Go for the heart again! If you breathe in, you could choke him that way!” At once, he was on the ground as well, and had Erestor’s head turned to the side. “You almost have him back! Keep going!” 

The dog decided to help by licking at Erestor’s face, and Círdan made an attempt to shoo him away. Fingon sat up and returned to his task, his jaw set, his eyes staring down, waiting for some indication that his reaction was not in vain.

And Erestor coughed suddenly, and Fingon almost kept going, except Círdan took a firm hold of his wrist to steady him. And Erestor gasped, and Fingon’s jaw trembled, and Círdan loosened his grasp. “I think you did it,” Círdan said, and Fingon, shaking, his own breathing irregular, crawled back around and pulled Erestor from the ground and against his chest and blinked at the tears in his eyes.

Círdan looked up at the pair hovering over them. Glorfindel stood speechless, hugging himself. Faelion frowned, rubbing his jaw. “He was technically dead when we got here,” he said in his defense. 

A carriage passed by the alleyway, and Fingon managed to grab hold of part of the leash just as the dog noticed the horses and made to race after them. While the leash slid through Fingon’s hands, it did allow Cirdan the necessary time to reach the little dog and scoop him up. “Whatever was is not what is important. Right now, he needs better medical attention than any of us can offer.”

“I am practically a healer,” said Faelion as he made an attempt to get closer. “I can examine him.”

“Absolutely not,” growled Fingon with his arm raised and the palm of his hand facing Faelion. “You keep the fuck away from him.”

“Can you believe this?” Faelion demanded of Glorfindel. He shook his head. “And just what are you going to do? Sit here in the darkness and beat his chest if he stops breathing again?”

“I am going to pray to Eru Almighty for help and guidance.” Fingon bowed his head and clasped his hands together.

“You have got to be joking.” Faelion rolled his eyes and looked at Glorfindel, who was also silently praying. “Maybe you should step aside and allow a real healer the chance to take a look.”

Fingon glared at Faelion. “If a real healer shows up, I will certainly allow that.”

“Oh, you will allow it? Who gave you the power to make these decisions?” demanded Faelion.

Cirdan, who happened to notice something overhead after the dog began to bark, took a few steps back. “It would seem your prayer is answered, Fingon.”

Fingon looked above, and circling lower and lower was a great, brown bird. “For all my faults, Manwë has yet to fail me.” Fingon used his body to shield Erestor from the debris that swirled around them as the Eagle landed nearby.

“Now what?” questioned Faelion.

Fingon lifted Erestor up in his arms. “Now I take him to a real healer. Círdan, I am so sorry to ask--”

“I will go to the cottage and take care of the animals there, and your dog as well,” the shipwright promised.

“I am not riding on THAT,” warned Faelion, and the Eagle laughed.

“Of course not,” boomed the Eagle. “I came for them,” he said with a flick of his feathered head. “The rest of you can find your own way, thank you very much.”

Fingon settled onto the back of the eagle quite awkwardly with a limp Erestor in tow. He used his legs to steady himself and hold on, and kept a tight hold on Erestor. As almost an afterthought as the Eagle spread his wings again, he looked down at Glorfindel and said, “Elrond’s house,” and a moment later, Glorfindel, Faelion, and Círdan irdan stood in an empty alleyway with a growling dog.


	4. And the Stars Fell Out of the Sky: DIAGNOSIS

Three days later, Fingon blearily rubbed his eyes as he looked out the front door at Glorfindel and Faelion standing on the stoop. “Still unresponsive,” he said in lieu of a greeting, and moved aside to allow them entry.

“Where is he?” asked Glorfindel once the door was shut. Faelion motioned down the main hallway with his arm. There was but one room there, a bedroom typically utilized as a healing room, but at one time belonging to Glorfindel and Erestor. Glorfindel took a deep breath, and Faelion reached out to squeeze his hand. The pair proceeded forward with Fingon behind them, but at the door, they stopped. “Could you give us a moment alone, please?” asked Glorfindel.

“...No.” Fingon looked rather insulted, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have been here since the beginning.”

“You hijacked his body,” announced Faelion sternly.

“He is breathing on his own. His heart is beating. He is not dead,” growled Fingon.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Elrond, who had been inside the room, now came into the hallway and closed the door. “I would appreciate it if you would take all disputes outside. This is a house of healing, and I will not have discord within these walls.”

“We would like to see Erestor on our own,” demanded Faelion. “Glorfindel wishes to speak to him.”

Elrond gave a single nod of his head and opened the door a little wider. “He has the right to speak to his husband,” said Elrond. Glorfindel silently moved forward and was allowed admittance, but Elrond stepped to block Faelion. "Allow me to show you to the sitting room. Once Glorfindel has finished, I think we need to talk.”

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder as Faelion was about to protest. “I should be alright on my own,” he said quietly. “I should not be long.”

Faelion glared at Fingon, but stepped back. “Fine.” He assumed the same pose as Fingon, and once Elrond closed the door behind Glorfindel, they all moved to the sitting room.

“Would anyone care for something to drink?” asked Elrond once Fingon and Faelion were seated. Fingon shook his head and rubbed his hand across his face. Faelion stood and walked to the shelf that Elrond was standing at. It was simply a shelf of the bookcase that otherwise held an impressive number of volumes. On the middle shelf were a half dozen stout little glasses and two bottles of liquor, one light and the other dark. Faelion gave a slight nod as Elrond held up the amber colored liquid and poured each of them a portion. While Elrond carried his back to the chair he normally sat in, Faelion downed the glass in one gulp. Fingon stretched out his legs and used the arm of the couch as a back rest. 

When Glorfindel joined them, it was obvious he had been crying. Fingon started to get up, but Faelion made it to the blond sooner, and led him to another chair in the room. Once they were all settled in, Elrond looked around at each of the three individually before he began. "The condition that Erestor is in is serious. No one knows how long he was incapacitated. At this point, we normally assume that, from a standpoint of where the healer is concerned, there is little to be done. When Fingon brought him to me," he said as he addressed Faelion and Glorfindel specifically, "he was not in good shape. He was dehydrated, and I honestly thought we would lose him that night. I managed to stabilize him, but I do not know how long that will last. This is a very tricky situation - he is probably not going to be able to be fully revived. Even if that is accomplished, there will likely be damage, either in his movement or in his functions. I really have no idea of telling right now what shape he will be in when or if he regains consciousness. He may also prefer not to - that is always a possibility."

"That is not Erestor," countered Fingon. "I know he would want us to do whatever we can for him. He would want to live."

"He tried to commit suicide several times before." Glorfindel ran a hand through his hair. "We have no idea if he was doing that this time. That might have been why he was in the state he was in."

"No. I refuse to believe that," said Fingon. "That might have been how he was, but there was so much that was good going on. He would not have abandoned his project. He--"

"He was an addict," cut in Faelion. "He had issues. He brought them home with him all the time. We tried on numerous occasions to help him. He obviously did not care about himself, and in some ways, he did not care about us, either. He would not have run off and taken that stuff again," he spat out. "When we went back to the house, do you know what we found? We found his stash of drugs in the library, Fingon. He was still using them. There was a lot there."

"Maybe there was a lot there because he had not been using them," tried Fingon.

"There was a lot there because he was using more of them. There were notes. He kept lying to us and telling us he was past all of that, when in reality, he was worse than he ever was. That was why we found him in the alley like we did. He probably went out to get more of them that night," added Faelion.

"When do you think he had the time to use all of this stuff you claim he had?" asked Fingon. "Between the work on the cottage, the farming, and all of the rest--"

"He clearly found time," interjected Faelion. "And just look at the result!"

Elrond lifted his hands up. "If the two of you are set on fighting, take it outside my house, thank you. I will speak to Glorfindel of my findings instead."

Fingon sat back down in a huff, and Faelion walked over to Glorfindel and placed his hands on the back of his chair. "My apologies. We will behave - for Glorfindel's sake," said Faelion.

Elrond waited until everyone settled back down before he continued. "There are two options we have in the immediate future. One leads down numerous eventual paths, and the other is a means to an end."

"What options do we have?" asked Faelion as he rubbed Glorfindel's shoulders. Fingon, on his side of the room wrung his hands and listened intently.

"We can continue to do what we have been doing. He needs to be kept hydrated, basic needs must be seen to, and we have to monitor his progress. It was more intense these last few days, but in the long-run, there may be more or less required. As I said before, I am not sure what state he will be in when he wakes, and if he will be able to. It is an option, and one I am willing to try, at least for a time," said Elrond. "The other option would be to make him comfortable, and to begin a course of treatment which would ease any amount of pain he might be experiencing. I would expect the duration to be three to five days, at the most."

"Three to five days until what?" Fingon shook his head abruptly as realization hit. "No. That is not why he was brought here. That is not an acceptable outcome."

"That might be for the best," said Faelion, who looked down at Glorfindel. "What would you like to do? I think that you are the one who should make the decision."

"Do you think he is in any pain?" asked Glorfindel as he looked up at Elrond.

"It is hard to say. I can only assess what I can see. Without responses, it is difficult to tell what he is thinking or feeling, or if he is thinking or feeling anything anymore." Elrond rubbed his hands together. "This is a difficult decision to make. If the three of you would like to discuss it, I can give you some time alone to do that."

"I think that Glorfindel and I would indeed like a moment alone to discuss," said Faelion.

Elrond looked at Fingon, who was already shaking his head. "We are going to talk about this together. With Elrond in the room," demanded Fingon. "You practically abandoned him that night. This is not your sole decision to make."

"On the contrary, Glorfindel is his husband. He actually does get to make the decision," Faelion reminded Fingon. "Now, if you will please allow us some privacy."

"Like hell I will. When he stopped breathing back there, you were just going to leave him," Fingon shouted. "I am not about to let you kill him."

"As I said, it is not your choice."

Fingon's fingers curled and his teeth were bared. "I remind you then that it is not your choice, either."

"It is more my choice than it is yours," stated Faelion. "You barely knew Erestor like we did. You just lived there."

"I just lived there?" Fingon shook his head. "I just lived there. Do you need me to go over how I was the one who made it possible for us to live there? If I had not sold the theatre and invested in that cottage, there would be no there to be at!"

"And we thank you for your commitment to one of Tol Eressëa’s oldest and most well-known landmarks," said Faelion.

"This is fucking ridiculous! If I had not noticed he was gone, he would be gone right now."

"Precisely," agreed Faelion. "I think that we need to consider that as it pertains to this situation. If we had not arrived, he would be dead. Perhaps it is best that we... allow nature to take that course." He looked down at Glorfindel. "You do not want him to suffer, do you?" Glorfindel shook his head. "Well then. I think that settles that. How soon can we begin the treatments?" asked Faelion as he looked up at Elrond.

Elrond looked to Fingon for a moment, and then at Faelion. "I have questions of my own first," said Elrond. "When you found him in that alley, was he breathing? I was led to believe that his heart had stopped."

"It did," answered Faelion.

"For how long?" asked Elrond.

Faelion frowned. "Several minutes at least. I did not think he could be revived.” 

"You did not want him to be! You certainly want him dead now!"

Elrond lifted a hand up in Fingon's direction. "Anger is not going to bring us any closer to a solution. I understand your emotions--"

"Like hell you do!" Fingon was on his feet again, his fists clenched at his sides. "How about the two of you explain how you have been treating Erestor over the last two years? All of the exclusion could not have been good for his mental health, and you know damned well he is not in a good place most days. Why would you continue to make it worse? The two of you are pathetic! And now he is lying in there, who knows if he will wake up again, and you are trying to find the fastest way to be rid of him!"

The commotion brought Elladan into the room, and he stepped in front of Fingon, but his father waved a hand that there was no worry. Nonetheless, Elladan stayed near and kept a watch on what was going on now. "Situations such as this can bring out emotions we did not know we had," said Faelion, and all turned now to him. "Such as, this sudden interest that Fingon has in Erestor's well-being. I am sure he means well - he does like to try to save others when he can, but Erestor has been in this downward spiral for a long while now," said Faelion. "It is probably for the best to find a way he can rest in peace."

"What?" Elladan now turned to his father. "Do you really think Erestor is that far gone?"

"We have to look at all of the possibilities," explained Elrond. "More than anything else, though, we must consider the needs of Glorfindel as well. This is not so dissimilar as what happened to Finwë."

"I cannot believe you are comparing this to that." Fingon clenched his teeth, looked around helplessly, and stomped his foot. "You are a healer, Elrond! How are we even discussing an alternative to trying to heal him?"

Elrond looked at Glorfindel. "What do you want to do, Fin?"

Glorfindel looked up and over his shoulder at Faelion. "I... I am trying to think of what he would want," he said. "I feel like I reached a point where I do not know him anymore."

"He would want to live. You know that." Fingon walked up to Elrond. "I am done trying to appeal to them. His life is in your hands. I beg you to think of what he would want. I think you know what he would want," added Fingon.

Elrond looked hard at Fingon, and then he looked back at Glorfindel. "How are you feeling right now? This must be a traumatic experience for you."

Fingon turned around and stared at Glorfindel. Glorfindel looked back and took a deep breath. "I am doing as well as can be expected."

Elrond nodded slowly. "You must be in shock over this. Perhaps we should give you and Faelion a moment to speak privately."

Faelion bowed his head slightly. "That was all I ever asked for in the beginning," he said. Only Fingon caught his smirk, and had he been closer, Fingon would have punched it off of his face.

"Fingon. This way, please." Elrond motioned with his hand. Fingon looked about to protest, but Elladan set his hand upon Fingon's arm and showed him the way out of the room. They went just down the hall to Erestor's room, where Elrond waited until all three were inside and he shut the door. "Alright. What is going on? And to be clear, I mean between Erestor and everyone else. When you arrived, I assumed you were the first to find him, and that was why you brought him, but a day went by, and two, and now three, and Glorfindel is sitting in there with an apathetic look on his face, and Faelion sounds like a politician."

"Things have been strained between the three of them." Fingon ground his teeth and looked to Erestor, appearing to be deep in slumber despite the noise around him. He was close enough for Fingon to reach, and indeed Fingon made contact, the tips of his fingers stroking the back of Erestor’s limp hand. "If they were not around, I have little doubt that I would be the one solely making decisions. I really wanted him to awaken before they arrived and to prove them wrong. I was so hopeful." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please. I know that there is little hope. I know the odds are against it. Just, please give him a chance. If there is a chance, please let him have that."

Elrond took the time to check Erestor's pulse and make some notes on a pad of paper sitting on the table beside the bed. "How long did it take for you to start his heart again?"

"It felt like hours. Maybe five minutes; maybe less." Fingon went through and recounted the entire ordeal, during which, Elrond closed his eyes and shook his head and Elladan groaned at least twice. "I did something wrong," Fingon realized by the time he finished.

"It explains the bruises," said Elladan.

"The methods you employed are... crude at best. They are not the sort of thing that we would use if we were trying to get a heart to beat again. However," added Elrond when Fingon frowned and sunk down on the corner of the bed to look upon Erestor, "you had no formal training. You did what you thought was best, and the outcome was actually better than one would expect. It worked. Be proud of that."

"But I might have made it worse," Fingon realized.

"A beating heart I can work with. A corpse is beyond my abilities." Elrond looked at Elladan. "I have an idea."

"I usually like your ideas. Except the ones that involved creative punishments for things I did as a child," said Elladan.

"Technically, Erestor was dead for a duration of time," said Elrond.

"But then he came back," said Fingon defensively.

Elrond nodded. "He did; that is true. What I am considering is how that pertains to marriage. Marriage is for the living, if you read what is in Laws and Customs, which is what both Erestor and Glorfindel believe in."

"Because they are Sedryners," said Fingon, and Elrond nodded.

"And since Erestor technically died," followed Elladan, "that means the bond of marriage is broken. That means that Glorfindel would not be able to dictate what you do with Erestor."

"Ever since he came in here, he has not acted the way I would expect," admitted Elrond. "He is obviously upset, but at what, I cannot tell. I think that whatever he says is going to be whatever Faelion thinks. That concerns me. If I was in his place, I doubt that I would be that uncaring about Celebrían. I could tell something was wrong, but I had hoped it was just general shock of the situation."

"So that means you are going to try to help him?" asked Fingon. "Sorry, but I do not think my heart can take this right now. Not knowing what you plan to do… I cannot… I cannot lose him… if I lose him… I lose everything..."

Elrond sat down beside Fingon, whose hands were shaking, and took hold of them. "You said something earlier that resonated with me. Yes, I am a healer. That is what I should be doing. I need to do whatever I can to save him. I know that this is going to cause a rift between myself and Glorfindel." He looked at Elladan. "I do not know how that is going to affect the relationship you and your mother have with him."

"It could be worse," said Elladan. "Hopefully he will eventually forgive you."

"Let them think I came up with the idea." Fingon glanced up at Elladan. "I do not want to affect the relationship that any of you have." He looked back at Elrond. "You have no idea how much I appreciate what you are doing. I want you to know that I am going to be here throughout it all. I want to be of use; I do not want this to be a burden you and your family take on."

Elrond nodded. "It would not be a burden, though I thank you." He now looked at his son and asked, "Do you want to go and see if they still need more time?" Elladan nodded and left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Elrond looked back at Fingon. "I am glad that someone was in agreement with this choice. I feel obliged to inform everyone of all of the options available to them, no matter which one I might feel is the correct option."

"Thank you for... everything. So far and in the future." Fingon closed his eyes and bowed his head. "This means a lot. It… it means everything to me."

Elrond stood up as the door opened. Elladan gave a nod. "They said they are ready with a decision."

"Let us see if it is the right one," commented Elrond as he and Elladan left the room. 

Fingon walked around to look down at Erestor. "Got over the little hurdle," he said softly as he reached down to touch Erestor's hand. "One more big one to go. Waking up right now would be a great idea."

Erestor's eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow.

Fingon leaned in to kiss Erestor’s brow and kept watch a moment more, and then followed out to the hallways and continued down to the great room. Elrond had just settled back into his chair. Glorfindel and Faelion were now on the couch, so Fingon took up a spot near the door where he stood and had his arms crossed over his chest. Faelion narrowed his eyes at Fingon, but Fingon kept an air of indifference as he looked across the room. Only Elladan looked at all cheerful, and that was only a mask as he walked to an empty chair and sat down.

"We have come to a decision," said Faelion. "Glorfindel and I agree that we do not want you to be further troubled by Erestor. We are going to take him back to Tol Eressëa. That way, he can be at peace. His parents can come to see him before Eru takes him home."

Elrond looked slightly surprised. "I do not recall that being one of your options."

"We would, of course, appreciate it if you would be able to give us whatever you intended to give him. To ease his pain, of course," added Faelion as an afterthought.

"He is not going anywhere." Everyone turned to look at Elladan. "He might not be doing well, and maybe he never wakes, but until we have a chance to better assess him, he is staying right here. This is the best chance he has."

"When did you get a vote?" asked Faelion. "I was certain that Glorfindel is the one making the decision."

"If that is the case, why are you talking?" asked Fingon.

Faelion opened his mouth and pointed a finger up at Fingon, but Elrond interrupted them all. "The decision has been made. He is staying here."

"But Glorfindel--"

"Has no say in the matter," said Fingon firmly. "Marriage is for the living."

"And who fed you that line?" demanded Faelion.

“No one had to feed it to me. It is written in the Laws and Customs,” said Fingon. “It states--”

“I do not need a theology lesson,” Faelion said. “And I do not believe you came up with that.” His gaze fell upon Elrond as he continued to address Fingon. “You are not intelligent enough to figure that one out on your own.”

“I think now would be a good time to take a break,” said Elrond. “We could retire to my study for a glass of brandy if--”

“This is bullshit,” announced Faelion. “I am not staying for this.”

“Faelion.” Now that Glorfindel spoke, he commanded an audience of all those in the room. “I think what he is saying is that with the bond dissolved, that would leave both Erestor and I unmarried.”

“I doubt he was doing that as a favor to us,” said Faelion.

Glorfindel took a deep breath. “That means we can marry now. Erestor is not an issue anymore.”

Elladan made a little growl of a noise and left the room swiftly with words that sounded like an apology to his father. Elrond’s expression was harsher now, and he looked at Fingon for how to continue.

“I know this is not my house, but I want the two of you to just get the fuck out of here right now.” Fingon gave it a moment to see if Elrond was going to intercede, and when nothing was said, continued. “If you need help finding the door, let me know. I can show you where it is.”

Faelion flipped his hair over his shoulder and gave Fingon a challenging look. “We have as much right as you do to be here. Neither of us intend to go anywhere. We are staying.”

The sound of air being forced out of Fingon's nose was reminiscent of an enraged bull, but before he could offer his strongly worded response, Elrond slowly rose from his chair. He stared down at Faelion for a good minute before he looked to Fingon briefly and said, "Sit down."

Fingon lowered himself back onto the edge of the seat. Glorfindel looked around with obvious uncertainty, and Faelion titled his head to look up at Elrond as the master of the house began to speak. "You seem to be under the impression that you are able to make decisions whilst under this roof. This is my home, not yours. Already we have established that Erestor's fate is not in your hands, nor are decisions about him to be made by Glorfindel. I will not throw you out this evening, but come morning I believe it would be in everyone's best interest for you to find somewhere else to stay if you intend to keep watch over Erestor for any length of time."

"Are you throwing us out?" demanded Faelion. "That is not very hospitable of you."

"It amuses me to be so lectured by one so inexperienced in manners such as yourself," replied Elrond. "I never said Glorfindel could not stay here. He is kin, through my wife's family. Fingon I welcome as well, for he is my own kin."

"What? How can that be?" asked Faelion.

"I am his great-great-great uncle or something," answered Fingon wearily as he rubbed his forehead.

"Was I speaking to you?" sneered Faelion.

"And there is your answer as to why you will not be staying beyond tonight," said Elrond. "Glorfindel, I trust you remember the layout of the house?" When Glorfindel nodded his head, Elrond said, "The east room on the third floor is ready for guests. Perhaps you would be so good as to show Faelion there. I will see to it that you are called for the meal."

"Am I being dismissed?" Faelion narrowed his eyes.

"I could allow Fingon to continue to dismiss you from the house if you prefer," said Elrond in a sickly sweet voice. A noise of discontent left Faelion, who stood and motioned to the doorway. Glorfindel stood as well, and the pair exited. Elrond waited until their sound of their footsteps disappeared, and then he turned his head to address Fingon. "Charming pair. How long has this animosity been present?"

Fingon rubbed his face and blearily looked at Elrond. "I apologize for my behaviour. You are right; this is your house. I should not have overstepped my bounds."

"Peace, Fingon. There is more at work here, I perceive." Elrond rubbed his chin. "We never really spoke the night you arrived of what happened to bring you here. I wanted to address it, but it was obviously not the time for it. You must have found a very expedient way to travel to make it across the sea the same night."

"Manwë has always been kind to me, and truly his Eagles have proven their worth time and again when I find myself in the most dire of situations." Fingon covered his hand over his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "I thought... I thought I was going to lose him..."

"If you do, it will not be by my hand," vowed Elrond. "There are many hurdles yet to overcome. I think anyone who manages to ride an Eagle that far is up to the challenges ahead." Elrond stood up, but as Fingon made to follow, Elrond stopped him. "You need rest. I will make sure no one comes in here to disturb you until we eat, as I am certain you wish to be near to Erestor. I will have Elladan bring you some blankets." Elrond began to leave the room, and then turned around. "I do not usually voice feelings of distaste for individuals, for everyone is unique and has their place - but I am most disappointed that Glorfindel has chosen Faelion over Erestor."

"It was not always like this," mumbed Fingon. "It just--"

"Tell me this, before you continue," interrupted Elrond. "If it meant Erestor would not have had this misfortune, would you prefer that he were still in the relationship he shared with them? Would you have preferred that, without the chance to be with him?"

"If it meant him being happy and healthy, then yes," Fingon affirmed. "I would have spent my life as I expected I would - his very loving and devoted friend, and no more than that, much as I would have preferred..." Fingon rubbed at his eyes again. "I love him, but I would see him happy before I would see him be mine."

“What will you do if he does not wake?” asked Elrond. “Have you the fortitude to--”

“I will be here,” interrupted Fingon. “I will stay to learn everything I must to keep him alive, if only for the chance he might awaken. I will not outstay our welcome, and if he should not awake, I will find a place nearby to care for him once I know how. If this should be his fate, know I am tied to it and bound to him, without betrothal or marriage.” Fingon’s normally solid jaw trembled. “I need him so much. I miss him… his voice…”

“You truly and unconditionally love him,” answered Elrond.

Fingon squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. As he wiped his tears away, he said, “I should have told him sooner. I should have done so many things differently.”

Elrond studied Fingon for a short time before he turned again to leave. "I will do whatever is in my power to save your Erestor," he said on his way out.


	5. And the Stars Fell Out of the Sky: DECISION

"I remember when I used to cook like this every night!" Celebrían set another bowl, this one with mixed steamed vegetables, in the center of the table. "Now it all depends on who is coming to visit, and whether or not those of us who live here are all eating at the same time or not."

"Who does live here? Normally?" Faelion, following a nap, appeared to be on his best behaviour. Fingon's demeanor, however, seemed worse than it had been before he slept.

"Not you," came the answer under the eldest's breath. 

Faelion rolled his tongue around his mouth and gave Fingon little more than a passing glance before he looked back to where Celebrían was gathering still more food to place before them. "From what I recall the last time I was here, your parents also lived here."

"Oh. They still do." Celebrían stacked rolls she had just removed from the oven onto a plate. "They decided to go on holiday for a bit."

"Where are they vacationing?" asked Glorfindel. "I did not recall hearing of any anticipated travels in the last letter I received."

"Oh, it was... spur of the moment," explained Celebrían as she set the plate down and then joined the others at the table. "An unexpected little excursion."

"When did they decide to do that?" wondered Glorfindel.

"When Erestor arrived." Elladan reached out to take a roll despite his mother's clicking tongue that told him he should wait for guests. He hastily put the roll on his own plate, picked up the serving plate, and held it out to Fingon, who was beside him. "Care for a roll?"

Fingon shook his head. "I am fine with this," he said as he nodded to the glass of water before him.

"You should eat something Fingon." It was Elrond who was now rubbing his eyes. "You need to keep up your strength."

"Yes, Fingon. Listen to Elrond. 'Tis his house, you know, you would not want to be thrown out of it." Faelion helped himself to the boiled potatoes in the bowl nearest to him. "Is this pheasant?" he asked of the tray that held roasted halves of small game.

"Grouse," answered Celebrían. "I know that Glorfindel appreciates it when I make something like this," she said. "On account of the dietary habits Erestor has."

"I am no leaf eater," announced Faelion as he stabbed a half of a bird and then dropped it down onto his plate. "Want some, Fingon?"

"No, thank you," replied Fingon. 

"Are you sure? It smells delicious," remarked Faelion.

Fingon swallowed hard and shook his head as he lifted the napkin to cover his mouth. 

"Mmm... I cannot wait to taste this, Celebrían,” said Faelion, and as others continued to add to their plates, he cut off a sizable portion and slowly lifted it to breathe in the scent before he placed the morsel in his mouth and licked the tines of the fork. “Mmm… that is heavenly… there is nothing like the taste of a plump, juicy gamebird. So moist and flavorful -- they practically baste themselves.”

“Excuse me.” Fingon, still with his napkin in hand, stumbled as he pushed back his chair and quickly left the room. Faelion smugly watched him make his exit. 

“Excuse me as well,” said Elladan, who more carefully made his departure. He went first to the room Erestor was in. Once he assessed Erestor and found that all was as he had left it, Elladan continued into the sitting room. He found it dark, but sitting on the couch with his legs drawn up was Fingon. “I take it you are like Erestor,” he remarked. “I always thought it was very noble of him not to eat animals.”

“I eat fish and other seafood,” said Fingon softly. His arms encircled his legs and his chin rested on his knees. “I avoid furry things, but I still hunt, and fish, so I have things from time to time. I refuse to eat poultry. Those are Manwe’s creatures, and he has been good to me. Faelion knows this. I am so done with his bullshit. This is not the same man I once knew.” Fingon looked across to where Elladan now sat in his father’s chair. “I am just so drained right now, and if I stay in there, I am either going to say something regrettable or vomit and this seemed better, despite the embarrassment.”

“Would you like me to bring something to you out here?” offered Elladan. Fingon shook his head. “It would be no trouble.”

“I appreciate that, but if you do that, he wins.”

“I think he already ‘won’, by chasing you out,” said Elladan.

Fingon shook head head again. “I am going to go back in there. I did not want him to have the satisfaction of seeing me vomit. I just need a moment, because I know it will ruin his supper if I am in there, and I am not going to allow him a pleasant evening more than I have to.”

“I know they say opposites attract, but both you and Erestor have a vicious passive aggressive side.”

“I think Erestor typically tops whatever I come up with,” said Fingon. “All the same, I thank you for the recognition.”

“If I ever do something to get on your bad side, please just tell me. I would prefer to avoid your psychological wrath,” said Elladan.

“You do not strike me as someone who would incur my wrath,” said Fingon. “Besides, from what I recall, you are married to a full-blooded Ainu. I am the one who would prefer not to piss you off.”

Elladan nodded. “I doubt either of us have much to worry about.” Laughter came from the kitchen, but it sounded forced from everyone except Faelion. “I would like to suggest that neither of us go back in there. It will do you no good, and while I know you wish to ruin his evening, why do it to the detriment of yourself? Besides, it would mean I would need to go back, too. I would rather sit here and speak with you.”

Fingon closed his eyes as he considered how to answer. When he next opened them, he was caught off-guard, for he was staring up at the ceiling instead of across the room. He was on his back and yawned as he struggled a bit to sit up. Everyone seemed to be in the room -- everyone except Faelion. “I am so sorry,” he said to Elladan once he spotted him.

Elladan waved it off. He sat where he had been, eating vegetables and noodles from a bowl. “You have had very little rest since you arrived. It was good to see you actually sleep.”

“If you are hungry, I kept something warm for you in the kitchen,” offered Celebrian. “In fact, let me go and get that for you.” She set aside her yarn and needles and left the room. 

In his chair, Elrond sleepily nursed a glass of brandy. Further away, Glorfindel sat in another chair, expressionless, focused on Fingon until Fingon caught his gaze, and then the blond looked away. The only noise in the room was Elladan eating his dinner until Celebrain came back in and handed a similar bowl to Fingon.

Fingon took hold of it and blinked wearily. He did not really care much, but he wanted an answer to the question in his mind anyhow. “Where is Faelion?”

“He wanted a moment with Erestor,” said Glorfindel. 

The words did not seem to fully connect for a moment. “Alone?” pressed Fingon as he finally understood what Glorfindel said.

“I was in there as well, but… I had to get out of there.” Glorfindel’s voice was strained, and he gripped the arms of the chair. 

“Someone else should be in there,” declared Fingon as he set the bowl aside and fumbled with the blankets someone had draped over him while he was asleep. 

“What do you possibly think he is going to do, Fingon?” Glorfindel glared at Fingon now as he spoke. “There is little harm to be done, if that is what you are worried about. This may be the last chance Faelion has to speak his mind to Erestor. Leave him be. After tomorrow, you can have Erestor all to yourself, just as you have both wished it for some time.”

Elrond looked up, appearing more aware. Celebrian bit her lip, and Elladan’s gaze moved beyond his supper. 

“If anyone has a right to speak his mind, it is Erestor. I wonder what he would think of your behaviour.” Fingon finally managed to detangle his legs and wadded up the blankets, only to throw them against the end of the couch. “I have a lot on my mind as well, but some things are best left unsaid.”

“I think you have said more than enough,” snapped Glorfindel back. “How do you think I feel right now?”

“How do you feel?” demanded Fingon. “You. How do YOU feel? Not how does Faelion say you should feel… do you feel anything right now? You just sit there or stand there and you say NOTHING! You do NOTHING! Do you even give a shit about him anymore, Glorfindel? Do you even love him anymore?”

“Does it even matter? You won. Just leave it at that. What am I supposed to say?” Glorfindel licked his lips and turned away. “You always win, Fingon. You have said it yourself many a time. Well, I am getting tired of losing. Sometimes, the rest of us peasants just need to cut our losses and walk away.”

This part of the exchange seemed to make Fingon uneasy, and he scratched his head and looked down at his lap. Glorfindel let out a sigh as the door opened down the hallway. Soft and slow footsteps followed the closing of the door, and a few moments later, Faelion stood in the doorway.

Glorfindel was the first to address him. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I think he might be dead.”

Several weary elves looked up to see Faelion standing in the doorway. His expression was generally indifferent, but almost smug when he focused on Fingon. “Again. I guess he was just too far gone to recover.”

Fingon stared at Faelion for a few moments while the words registered, and then he leaped from the couch as Elrond calmly passed by and entered the room first. Fingon stopped and lifted a finger to Faelion’s face. “If you did something--”

“Why do you keep blaming me? He has only himself to blame,” answered Faelion.

Fingon retracted his finger and clenched his fist. It was close to Faelion’s jaw, but he lowered his arm and narrowed his eyes. “I am going to prove his innocence in this matter. Something is not right, and if I find out it was you--”

“Once a kinslayer, always a kinslayer.”

No one moved; no one breathed. Then, before Faelion could react, Fingon lunged forward. Glorfindel tried to reach them, but Faelion let out a shocked little noise and cowered. Fingon stepped back. “Good. You should be afraid.” He leaned in when Faelion stood back up and hissed at him, “You are not worth it,” before he went to join Elrond in the room Erestor was in.

Fingon felt a chill as he stepped over the threshold. “Is he--”

“Shh!” Elrond, who had been doing chest compressions, leaned in to listen. “His pulse is low. His breathing is weak. There are limits to my abilities. If you truly are versed as a rune-keeper, now is the time to use your skills.”

From the hallway, Fingon heard Glorfindel and Faelion getting closer. He turned and shut the door, which he was glad to see had a lock. This he set, and he ignored the knock upon the door as he searched the room for a stone of some sort.

“Will crystals work? There are some in the drawer there.” Elrond pointed to it before he returned to his work on Erestor. 

In a bottom drawer, Fingon found several different colored pieces, and his eyes fell to a polished piece of selenite. He grabbed it and opened another drawer higher up. “I need a sharp tool. A knife or an awl - I need something to act as the riffler.”

“Next drawer up,” instructed Elrond. Fingon yanked the next drawer out, and the normally well-placed items rolled about. One with a bit of a spike on the end looked promising, and he took up this tool and hastily etched a character into the surface of the crystal, all the while speaking indeterminate words over and over. 

There was insistent pounding on the door, but inside, Fingon came up to the bed after dropping the tool onto the table. He spoke with great purpose words that Elrond could not understand, and with one arm aloft and holding the stone, his other hand hovered near to Erestor. Elrond still continued chest compressions until Fingon suddenly barked the command, “Move.”

A moment later, Fingon hit the palm of his hand hard against Erestor’s chest and reached high with the rune-stone. From an unknown source, lightning struck the rock and seemed to travel down along Fingon’s body until it hit Erestor. Erestor’s back arched, and his mouth opened as he gasped, then fell back to the bed. Fingon hastily stepped back, and Elrond checked Erestor’s pulse with caution. “Good. Stronger. Still a little irregular.” He pressed his ear to Erestor’s chest. “There we go… yes, I think that did it.”

The stone dropped from Fingon’s hand, and he fell upon his knees at the bedside. He reached out and took one of Erestor’s hands. “You have to stop doing this, honey. Come back to me, sweetheart.” Fingon kissed the back of Erestor’s hand while Elrond worked around him to check over Erestor’s vitals. “Whatever happened, darling, we can work through it. Please, please, let me try. Please.” He bowed his head, shoulder and voice shaking, and kissed the inside of the cool, limp hand. “Even if you just wake up so you can be with them again. Even if you tell me to go away… if I was somehow the reason things were not working for all of you. Just wake up and tell me. And if you want me to tell those two to fuck off, just wake up and tell me that you want that instead. Please, just… please wake up.” Fingon lifted his head and used his other hand to staunch his tears. “I miss you so much, beautiful. Please wake up for me.”

“He is stable,” whispered Elrond as he placed a hand on Fingon’s shoulder. He squeezed Fingon’s shoulder. “We should let the others know.”

Fingon took a deep breath and stood up slowly. “I would like another minute before they come in.”

“I do not want either of them in here at the moment, if that is what concerns you. Elladan can stay in here this evening, just in case. You need to sit down and rest.” 

“Just one minute, please.” Fingon swallowed hard as he looked down upon Erestor. He stroked his fingers along Erestor’s hand. “I will be back. I promise to come back. I will be just down the hall if you need me - just call for me, alright?” Fingon bent down and kissed Erestor upon the brow before he straightened his clothing and rubbed his face.

“After you,” suggested Elrond as the pounding came upon the door again.

Fingon emerged from the room and nearly walked into Faelion. Behind Faelion, Glorfindel stood with wide eyes. Fingon looked between the two, and then cleared his throat. “He is breathing on his own again.”

“Is he?” questioned Faelion. “Or is it simply an automatic reaction. Is he truly in con--”

Faelion gasped for air as the breath left his body. Fingon managed to slam Faelion against the wall of the hallway without so much as touching Glorfindel. Despite Faelion’s height, Fingon had him elevated slightly, with Fingon’s hand around Faelion’s throat and his elbow dug into his chest. “The only thing that stops me from throttling you right now is Glorfindel.” Fingon let go of Faelion, who grabbed for his throat and coughed as his feet hit the floor. 

Behind Fingon, Elrond emerged from the room. He shut the door while Glorfindel shoved past Fingon to reach Faelion. Elrond set his hand upon Fingon’s shoulder and silently directed him toward the great room. To Glorfindel he suggested: “You may want to seek an alternative arrangement for this evening.”

Celebrían was there now, and she stepped between her husband and the pair on the other side of the hallway. “Perhaps it would be best if we stepped outside for a moment.”

Elrond waited for them to shuffle past - Faelion keeping his icy stare focused upon him the entire time - before he joined Fingon in the large room furthest from the front door. “I really try to be fair and hospitable, but I have no tolerance for some things.” He gave Fingon a sidelong glance. “I thank you for not shedding blood in my house.”

Fingon pulled back his mass of braids, which he twisted behind his head. He leaned back and let the chair keep them in place. “Are you kind to me because of the circumstances, or because my son is your best friend?”

Elrond seemed to truly ponder the answer. “I like to think I am genuinely a nice person, for the most part.” He stood up, but instead of leaving, went to a cabinet closeby and took from it a bottle of cordial. “Care for a drink?”

Fingon closed his eyes and sighed. “That was rude of me. I apologize.” 

“I appreciate your sentiment and accept your apology. Drink?” Elrond was already pouring a second before Fingon nodded. “For the record,” said Elrond as he brought the glasses over and handed one to Fingon, “I think you would have had every right to punch that sod square in the face.”

“Really? I honestly felt if I had gone any further, I would have been the one you kicked out,” replied Fingon.

Elrond shook his head and then took a sip. “I know he is not far into his studies, but if his claim is to be a healer, then he is missing the mark by a long shot. The purpose of a healer is to heal. One cannot do that with self-centered goals in mind. Faelion is probably the most arrogant person I have met, next to Annatar himself. What he wants -- a clean break, lack of awkward meetings or conversations, and complete freedom for Glorfindel -- he cannot have,” declared Elrond. “Not on my watch.”

“Do you think you will be able to save him?” asked Fingon after a long silence.

Just as Fingon began to feel himself doze off, he heard Elrond say, “I think we should try.”


	6. And the Stars Fell Out of the Sky: DONE

“Fingon?”

Fingon turned around to see Glorfindel standing in the hallway. "I thought the two of you left already." Fingon did not mean the words to be accusing, but they certainly sounded that way.

Glorfindel shook his head. "We were actually just in the other side of the house. Faelion wanted to get supplies before we left."

"Makes sense." Fingon almost asked where they were going until he realized he did not care. "Are you leaving yet today, or just staying over there awhile?"

"I think we are going to go today." Glorfindel came forward slowly, and that was when Fingon noticed that there was a large brown folder made of heavy paper in his hands. There were sheets within it, some of them peeking out from the sides, and Glorfindel held up the item. "I have something for you before we go. I did not want to say anything while Faelion was around because he does not know that I brought it with me. In fact, I think he does not know about this at all."

Fingon looked at the folder and then back to Glorfindel. "Do I need to guess?"

Glorfindel held it out. "They are letters. Addressed to you." Fingon lifted a brow and reached out for them, but Glorfindel pulled his hand back for a moment. "I would ask that you do not read them until after I have left. Those are what Erestor and I were arguing about the day he left. I found them that morning when I was trying to find something else in the library."

"Who wrote them and why were you arguing?" questioned Fingon.

"He did," answered Glorfindel. "I think once you read them, you will understand why." He held the folder up again, and this time Fingon took it. "I just want you to know I have no intention of standing in your way. I also have no plans to make a claim on the cottage. Neither does Faelion. We are going to go back to remove our things, but you can have the house if you want it."

"I want to see what Erestor wants," answered Fingon. "So I guess I cannot answer that question for you yet. Hopefully I can do that soon." Fingon fanned the pages without looking at the text. "There must be at least a dozen in here."

"Possibly more. Then again, some of them are long. I did not read them all, but the ones I did read were enough." Glorfindel shook his head. "I hope he does get well. I hope he wakes up. And... I hope he gets what he wants from this." He turned to walk away.

"Are you getting what you want?" 

Glorfindel turned back and shrugged. "I have no idea how to answer that. Did I want to find Erestor in an alleyway in the condition he was in? Certainly not. Did I want to find those letters the way I did? No. But I guess, in the end, sometimes things have to happen for a reason. I thought we were all happy. Clearly, that was not the case. Time will tell."

"I hope that on some level we can still..." Fingon shrugged as well. "Maybe that is too much to consider right now. This has been a very unfortunate week."

"That it has." Glorfindel looked about to leave again, but then he asked, "When did it happen? This was not something that just occurred overnight. It had to be going on right in front of me."

"What do you mean?"

"The two of you," he said bitterly.

Fingon frowned and shook his head. "You are mistaken, Glorfindel. Nothing was going on. Why; what did he say?"

"He said very little when I confronted him about the letters. He did say he never sent them, but no one writes what he did without some cause," accused Glorfindel.

Again, Fingon shook his head. "Perhaps it seems that we were involved in something, but I can assure you that if he was unfaithful, it was not with me. We were friends and colleagues, and maybe I wanted something else, but I would not have done that to you in your own home, and neither would he. We are friends, and I hope someday you will be able to accept that friendship again."

"Read the letters," advised Glorfindel before he left. "Then, tell me if you think we can be friends again." He closed the door behind him, and Fingon did not move again until Elladan came out from Erestor's room to see if he was alright.


	7. And the Stars Fell Out of the Sky: DIRE

“Ada. The sand ran out.”

Elrond had dozed off in his chair, but now he sat up and stretched. Nearby, Elladan sat on the floor playing with the cat, keeping vigil on the glass bulbs that held coppery colored specks. Now that the timer had run out, Elrond pushed himself up from the chair. Fingon was slowly and carefully setting aside the paper and board he had been using to craft a letter, and cleared his throat. When Elrond looked to him, Fingon asked, “May I help? I would like to learn to take care of him, in case this lasts for…” He sucked in air as he stopped himself from speaking the word most feared. 

Elrond nodded and looked to Elladan. “Would you mind retrieving the ingredients?” Elladan stood up and passed between the other two. “Have you much knowledge of the healing arts?”

Fingon frowned. “I would like to be useful, to you and to him. I can listen and learn,” he offered. “I know what they say about those who are warriors - especially kinslayers such as my--”

“That was not what I meant,” said Elrond in a firm yet gentle tone. “There is a great difference between patching up a skinned knee and what needs to be done to ensure Erestor’s continued survival through this ordeal.”

Fingon stood and rolled his shoulders. “You want to know if I can stomach it.”

“It is difficult enough to care for someone in this condition. I have… experiences of my own that were very hard for me.” Elrond looked about to say more, but Fingon nodded and placed a hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “Perhaps I should say, if at some point you are overwhelmed, I will not take offense if you must leave the room.”

“I promise I will be honest about all I see,” said Fingon.

Elrond led the way to the room where Erestor was resting. The sun had not yet set, so there was enough light coming in through the windows to work by. Fingon approached the bed, and it seemed only that Erestor was sleeping on his side, deep in a dream - except that there was a darker spot on the pillow by his mouth, and a strand of drool clinging to a partially exposed tooth peeking out from his slackened jaw, and the room smelled faintly of urine, despite the satchels of herbs hanging from the drawer handles. “Would you like a moment with him before we begin?” asked Elrond solemnly. 

It was only the fifth time since returning to the house that Fingon saw Erestor, and the first two times were under circumstances of relief, grief, and exhaustion. Most of the first few days had been a bustle of activity, monitored by Elrond, and Fingon felt he was in the way to try to come into the room. After Glorfindel and Faelion left, Fingon fell into a deep sleep himself, waking two days later, only to insist he had to return to investigate the evidence found by Círdan and to make arrangements at work and the house. 

As it turned out, Círdan recalled more of the details of the grim night than Fingon could, and the investigation by the Magistrate was nearly completed by the time Fingon made it back to the island. Ruled as an ‘inconclusive attempted murder’, the case was quickly buried so as not to cause panic on the island. The list of potential enemies Erestor had was longer than Fingon anticipated as Círdan rattled off commonors and wealthy lords and ladies alike. With a promise that a full investigation of travel records and questioning of witnesses would occur, Fingon made haste back to Elrond’s house, only to pass out once there from near exhaustion. Now that he had more awareness, he yearned closeness to Erestor. 

Fingon came closer and touched Erestor’s cheek with the back of his hand. It was cool, the skin soft, and it should have caused Erestor to stir, but it was as if he was a ragdoll, limp, tucked beneath the blankets after a day of play and tea parties, awaiting the next summoning of a child-master to bring him to virtual life. “I am afraid to ask what you mean from the way you say that.”

“What you see now, and how we are here, we are his family. His dearest friends, and… I should think more than that for you,” Elrond carefully said. “Once I begin to administer care, it all becomes very clinical. Sometimes it is best not to rush; I have taken to reading to him or just updating him on the news some nights before seeing to his needs.”

“I hated having to leave him as I did,” admitted Fingon as he pulled a chair close to the bedside. He fished out Erestor’s hand from beneath the coverings and took hold of it, gently caressing each finger as he spoke. “I still hope that it was worth it. At least, his name is cleared of Faelion’s accusations.” Fingon slid his palm along Erestor’s arm, and still the surface was cold. “I think, if it is alright, I will stay here with him once we have finished.”

“That would be fine.” Elrond opened a drawer of the large cedar cabinet and removed two small washcloths, as well as a large towel and a fresh set of sheets. These he placed at the end of the bed. The cat sauntered through the doorway and hopped up onto the end of the bed, nearly flopping onto the clean linens before Elrond grabbed up the items. Fingon shooed the feline out and closed the door. “We are going to begin with the first elimination of urine, then feeding, then second elimination, and then we will bathe him and redress the bed.” Elrond set the bedding down again and went to a bedside table with two trays of tools and devices on it.

“Should I take notes?” asked Fingon as he watched Elrond pick up one of the trays and bring it to him. 

Elrond shook his head. “I will walk you through everything tonight, and then we can go over it again in the morning. Feeding happens twice; everything else is every three hours, except through the night. Early morning, then midmorning with the first feeding, then after lunch, late afternoon, then early evening with the second feeding, and then once again after nightfall. After a few days, I will guide you through as you perform the necessary steps, though you should not hesitate if there is something you would prefer I take care of. I have been performing these sorts of duties for a very long time,” he reminded Fingon.

“I will be sure to be here on time tomorrow,” said Fingon. “In fact, I might like to find a way to sleep in here, if that would be alright with you.”

“I am sure we can arrange that,” said Elrond. “It will be a far better idea than continuing to fall asleep in the chair.”

“I have slept in far worse places before,” said Fingon as he looked down at the items on the tray.

“Do you know what any of these are?” asked Elrond as he returned to the task at hand and carefully rolled the blankets away from Erestor, leaving the comatose elf exposed, and yet still unmoving.

Fingon looked over the items again. “On the left - my left, your right - that is a catheter. Hate those. Personally hate them. On the right, you have what looks like equipment to administer an enema. Some of the other items just go along with those. It also looks as if you have a thermometer, but it rolled a bit under and I cannot clearly see it.”

“Correct,” said Elrond. “I take it you have personal experience to go along with the personal hate,” he said as he took the tray back and set it down on the side of the bed not occupied by Erestor. 

“I broke my back once. At the time, it was a documented medical case,” said Fingon as Elrond looked up with mild concern. “I split my head open from the base just to midway, just behind my ear. Turgon later claimed he could see inside my head, but he was young at the time and I think it was just the sheer amount of blood.”

“Gymnastics?” queried Elrond.

“Gymnastics on a horse,” answered Fingon with as much sheepishness as he could muster. “It would be have been impressive if it had worked. Instead, I fell, and I was recovering for the next three months of my life.”

“Even as intense as a skull fracture can be, three months seems excessive,” Elrond remarked.

“The bone mended quickly; I was young. The infection almost killed me,” explained Fingon. “That was before we knew anything much about cleanliness, or why it is a bad idea to touch a catheter, and then rebandage an open wound.”

“Ah. That makes more sense. Then some of the basics are things you already know,” said Elrond. He picked up the catheter and came back around the bed. “In the top drawer over there,” he said, and he pointed with the end of the implement in his hand, “you will find a dozen or so of these. Over there, next to the door, is a metal bin. Everything through the day goes in there, and then overnight they are boiled in a pot over the fire in my bedroom. We have enough for two days straight, in case something happens and I forget to clean them or fall asleep. Which has happened more often than expected lately,” he admitted.

“Taking care of Erestor must have been taking up most of your waking hours. I promise I am going to lighten that burden,” declared Fingon.

Elrond sighed and looked at the thin silver tube in his hands. “I would not say it has been a burden. Erestor may have seemed just another employed by me in Rivendell, but he was - and always will be - part of my family.” Elrond took a deep breath. “Alright. This end is the insertion point,” he said as he lifted the catheter up. “It is imperative to work slowly and carefully. Normally, I would position him before I reach this point, or have Elladan help me. If you could please, move the blankets and keep him on his back. You will want to spread his legs apart to relax the muscles and give better light and access.” Elrond stepped back to allow Fingon the space needed to reach Erestor.

If Erestor could hear them in his state, he offered no confirmation. His head and limbs were governed by gravity, and Fingon grunted once as he picked Erestor up to move him slightly, for his weight seemed greater though his body appeared leaner than usual. “Like that?”

“That should be fine. Now we need to sterilize the area. Take one of the smaller cloths from that pile. The bottle on the nightstand - the blue one - has the disinfectant,” directed Elrond.

“Oh. Yes. Let me… get those…” Fingon reached over the bed to grab one of the cloths and then found the bottle. “So… how much do you sterilize? Just the end there, or…”

“You should clean anything you might touch. Start with the urethral opening, and work your way outward, cleaning the entire surface.”

“Oh boy. Alright.” Fingon sized up what was before him as he uncorked the bottle and tipped it to pour a little liquid onto the cloth. “So, when did you meet Erestor?” he asked, but before he could gain an answer, there was a knock on the door, and then Elladan entered. He was carrying a bowl that had a towel wrapped around it, and there was a plate covering the top. A little wisp of steam escaped as he set it down on another table. 

“You may need to reheat that, Elladan. I am going over the details with Fingon, and I want to take my time,” said Elrond. To Fingon, whom he had been watching, he said, “That should be sufficient.”

Fingon almost tossed the cloth aside, but caught himself and held onto it. “Next?”

“Now we need to lubricate the end of the catheter that is going to be inserted. This is particularly important,” explained Elrond. “If you forget this step, you can cause damage. As it stands, even though we do this several times each day, this is a procedure that must be done with the utmost care. A wrong movement could cause the catheter to puncture the--”

“Wait. That. Stop. I need a moment.” Fingon took a few deep breaths and turned away, the cloth wadded up in his hand.

“I can take over helping my father,” offered Elladan. “I have been assisting most days. In fact, I can actually take care of the entire thing,” he said, though this was more to his father than to Fingon.

“Shhhhit.” Fingon closed his eyes and bowed his head. He took several deep and audible breaths, and shook his head a few times.

“Why not go to the kitchen, and we can come and get you when we are done?” suggested Elrond gently. “Celebrían usually makes some tea around this time of night, and it might help to calm you.”

Fingon appeared to fight against the urge to throw up. He swallowed hard, let out a slightly distressed sound, and then turned back to Elrond. “Where is the lubricant kept?”

“Over here.” Elladan took over the instruction, and went through detailed steps, which Fingon followed. When it came to the insertion of the catheter, he stepped in and showed Fingon how the process worked. “Sometimes, he will eliminate before we get here, but today is promising. We may make it through this without a spill.”

“We still may switch the sheets,” said Elrond. “I like to work in as sterile an environment as I can provide. We shall discuss feeding next.” Elrond lifted a contraption from the tray made of the same sort of materials as most of the other implements. “This is for feeding him. It consists of a bulb that draws up the sustenance in a tube, and this long, thin structure which is inserted down through the nasal cavity and into the stomach. Again, I cannot stress enough that this is a delicate procedure, and one which requires the utmost care. A lubricant is used with this tool as well, but we need something mild and edible. You will find that all of the supplies are clearly marked. Always check them before you use them, even if you have used them before, to be sure you have chosen the right substance.”

“That tube for delivery is quite small,” Fingon noted. “It would seem that only liquid could pass through it.”

The bowl Elladan had carried in was now brought to the bedside. “My mother makes a sort of thin paste from food by crushing and grinding, then boiling with water and forcing it through a sieve. It is highly nutritious and moves through the feeding device with ease.”

“We very carefully measure the amount, and thorough notes are kept as to how much is offered and how much we are able to administer. Sometimes, we need to stop early, which is why it is important not to assume that the entire portion is delivered.” Elrond showed Fingon a glass vessel with lines etched into it that displayed the amount of liquid measured out. “We fill it midway twice instead of to the top. That way, if it is knocked over, we do not lose it all.” Elrond demonstrated a few times how it all worked, from drawing up the concoction to explaining how it would be inserted. “I make sure that the food is at least three-quarters into the internal portion before I insert it to lessen the amount of air being inserted into the stomach cavity.”

“For this part, we will position Erestor so that he is sitting up a little. Gravity will help to get the food into him, and it will also give us a better chance to aid him if he should cough or throw up at this point.” Elladan directed Fingon on how to ease Erestor up without disturbing the catheter, which was successfully creating a deposit of urine in a bucket by the side of the bed. 

Fingon watched intently as Elrond described in great detail how to insert the feeding tube, and then watched as it was done. He was then instructed to place his hand over Elrond’s so that he could experience the speed at which the task was completed. It was only after the vessel was drained twice and the tube was removed that Fingon said anything. “What is the mixture made of?”

 

“Celebrian uses a combination of vegetables and fruits, as well as protein.” Elrond cleared his throat. “I understand what Erestor’s preferences are when it comes to food, however, my task right now is to see him well again. I cannot use only eggs. Seafood is a source of protein and nutrients, and blends well.”

“I was only curious. I would like to help with that task, too. I would like to know all that is required to keep Erestor alive,” said Fingon.

“I am sure we can arrange to have you assist Celebrian so that she can show you the techniques,” said Elrond. Now began the process of removing the devices, and cleaning both Erestor and the bed. “We move now to use of the clyster, which allows us to do two things. First, it will be used to cleanse Erestor’s bowels. Then, we will use it again so that water can be retained for a period of time. This method is used to keep him hydrated, and to purge unwanted discharge.” Compared to the other procedures, it was the messiest, and boosted Fingon’s appreciation for what Elrond and Elladan were doing. It was followed by changing the sheets and easing Erestor back down to rest with his head slightly elevated. 

Once all of the tasks were completed, the equipment and remaining food substance were removed and taken to the appropriate places. Fingon stayed in the doorway, watching the frail figure on the bed until Elrond returned. “I did not realize how weak he has become,” whispered Fingon.

Elrond squeezed his shoulder. “You did well today. Do you still wish to learn more so that you can assist with his care?”

With his eyes still upon Erestor, Fingon nodded slowly with tears glistening in his eyes. “Am I making the right choice? Not about helping -- about Erestor. Am I… just prolonging something worse for him?”

Elrond moved his hand to Fingon’s back and coaxed him further down the hall. There he took hold of Fingon’s hands. “I find that in these moments when we feel great despair, we should not entertain the making of decisions such as the one on your mind. He will get better, or he will not. He will survive this, or he will not. We do what we can, and we put the rest of our trust in Eru.”

Fingon swallowed back his emotion and nodded at Elrond’s words. His strong countenance appeared to return, but as soon as Elrond embraced him, Fingon began to sob. “I just cannot tell if I am being kind or selfish.”

“That is a question I cannot answer, either,” admitted Elrond.

For a few moments, Fingon remained still and silent. “May I sit with him?” he asked. 

“Of course. In fact, there are many documented cases that show there is much good that can come from speaking to someone who is in an unresponsive state. You may want to let him know you are here--talk to him as if he is awake and simply resting.” Elrond let go of Fingon’s hands. “I will have Celebrian bring you something to eat later on.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that. Maybe just some tea,” amended Fingon.

“Tea, then.” Elrond patted Fingon’s back as he made his way back to Erestor’s room.

Fingon opened the door slowly, and peered in, hopeful that he might see Erestor sitting up on the edge of the bed complaining about the accommodations. No such luck. Erestor was exactly as he had been when Fingon last saw him. Still, he closed the door behind him and walked to the bed as if he was greeting Erestor in the waking world. “You really need to stop worrying me like this,” he began, an attempt at humor that failed even for him as he sat down with a sigh. 

At first, Fingon reached out and rubbed a fingertip over Erestor’s hand, but after several minutes of uncertainty, he walked back to the door and slowly turned the lock so that it would not make noise. Then he very carefully crawled up onto the bed and nuzzled beside Erestor. “As hard as it is for me, it must be hard for you, too. I know how independent you are. When you wake up and I tell you everything we had to do in order to keep you alive… well I cannot imagine you are going to think it fascinating. I will be lucky if you do not throw a catheter at my head.”

Fingon shivered a little, and pulled a blanket at the end up the bed up so that he could cover both himself and Erestor with it. “I am grateful that Elrond is here, but I feel as if I am imposing. If only I could have taken you to my parents’ house. Your care is more important than my comfort, though. I am not sure we would have made it to Tirion. So far, I have kept my anxiety at bay, but it is so hard to ask those I barely know for help. It seems rude, too, but I am blessed that they want to see you well again, too.”

A little sniffle escaped, and Fingon pressed his face into the pillow until it subsided. ‘I just want to scream and throw something, but I know that is not going to make anything better.” Fingon lifted his head and placed his palm upon Erestor’s closer shoulder and rubbed small circles in the most comforting manner he could muster. “I want you to know, if you wake up, and you want to be with them again, in spite of all they put you through, I am willing to accept that.” With a deep sigh, Fingon added, “I love you that much that I would rather see you happy. I cannot deny that I hope you choose to stay with me. My heart breaks a little more every morning I do not hear your voice, but it would sing to know you are healed, even if that meant I was not to be with you.”

A knock came upon the door, and Fingon was up and out of the bed before anyone had a chance to see if it was locked or not. He hastily yet soundlessly unlocked the door and opened it. There was Elladan, holding a tray with a kettle and two cups, as well as cream and honey and sugar. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked.

Fingon stood aside and the tea was brought in. “I did not want to seem too forward about it,” said Elladan. “If you prefer to be alone with him, I will not take offense.”

“None taken.” Fingon settled back onto the chair he had been using earlier, and Elladan rearranged the furniture so that they could sit on the same side with Erestor in view. “How long have you known Erestor?” he asked after Elladan handed him a cup of plain tea.

“All my life,” Elladan said.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Fingon shook his head. “Of course.”

“How long have you known Erestor?” asked Elladan.

Fingon blew across the top of his cup. “The same,” he realized. “Or, thereabouts. I think I was three the first time I recall him.”

“Did he ever change your diaper?”

Fingon frowned. “Not that I…” He tilted his head and fought to delve deep into his childhood. “Not that I am aware. Why such a question?” he queried.

“Erestor once commented that he would never consider or take interest in anyone whose diaper he had changed.” Almost immediately, Elladan bit his lip. “Sorry. I apologize. That was uncalled for, considering the circumstances. I should have given my words more thought.”

With a shake of his head, Fingon reached out and patted Elladan’s knee. “There is no reason to walk on eggshells around me. Honestly, I enjoy any little tidbit about Erestor that you are comfortable sharing. There is so much I do not know about him.”

“I am sure he would not mind if I shared some stories with you,” said Elladan.

“Oh, please do.”

Elladan began to open his mouth, and then stopped. He stalled again, and a third time, and scratched his head without explanation.

Fingon’s brow was furrowed. “What is it?”

“I fear I would mispeak again,” said Elladan.

Fingon fidgeted with the tea cup. “Please, speak your mind. I would rather have the truth than a fabrication on my account.”

“Alright.” Elladan took a deep breath. “I am trying to think of a tale to tell you, but everything I think about that pertains to Erestor seems to be about Glorfindel, too.”

Fingon flicked his eyes downward, then back up again. “So be it,” he said. “As I said, I would rather hear the truth.”

“In that case, I remember a time when I was about forty or so, and of course my brother was the same. We were having a lesson with Glorfindel about math and physics, and he had Erestor come to help. There was a swing attached to a tree branch by a rope, and Glorfindel was explaining force and motion and he was pushing Erestor on the swing as part of the demonstration. Well, Glorfindel does not always know his own strength, and he pushed too hard and somehow poor Erestor ended up swinging into the leaves and getting tangled up in the branches. So then, Glorfindel went to try to catch him, but that ended up in a heap of teachers on the ground, an impromptu lesson on gravity, Elrohir and I deciding we were not interested in science, and Erestor refusing to ever help Glorfindel again. And then, I think he helped him with the next experiment the very next week.”

“Sounds like them,” Fingon said, unable not to smile fondly.

“I wish you could have been there to see it for yourself,” said Elladan. “I think you would have enjoyed Rivendell.”

“I think I would have, too, but it would not have been the same. Each person and every little thing around them changes a situation completely. It would have been different, and maybe not for the better.” Only now did Fingon sip his tea.

Elladan shifted his gaze to the figure on the bed. Shadows from the halflight coming through the window were cast upon him. “I hope he is able to wake soon,” said Elladan.

Fingon could only nod.


End file.
